Oxygen
by luluhrh
Summary: "He walks into a room and she walks out of it."/Or, the aftermath of the Reynolds Pamphlet in the Hamilton household, from Alexander's point of view. Third person, Hamiliza, mentions of their other children. Has been extended to cover the events of "Blow Us All Away," "Stay Alive (Reprise)," and "It's Quiet Uptown." More still to come. Angsty and sad. Rated T for death.
1. Chapter 1

**Oh, look at me. First Hamilton fic. I have so many unfinished fics, but whatever! I'll do this instead, because feels are terrible things and this show has given me ALL OF THEM.**

 **Disclaimer: Hahahahahahahahaha do you think I'm Lin-Manuel Miranda u lil shits**

 **no u don't**

 **fuck off**

 **ANYWAY**

 **So this is much sad. From the prompt _Oxygen_.**

* * *

He walks into a room and she walks out of it.

There are no words spoken between them. He tries- so many times, he _tries_ \- but they stick in his throat, like he can't get enough air to form them as she sweeps past, eyes forward, not even sparing him a glance.

He should be surprised. After all, his words have never failed him before. Somehow, though, it makes perfect sense. Clarity is a knife through his heart. _There will never be the right words to show that I am sorry for what I have done._

It's his fault. It always is, really, and maybe he should have taken that as a warning sign, a reason not to do anything, but he was caught up in himself (as always [why can't he ever see, why couldn't he look at her and finally _see_ ]) and spared no thought to the repercussions on his family.

When he'd seen the pamphlet in Eliza's hand for the first time, it had suddenly hit him. _I've done her wrong. I've done it all wrong._

She hadn't spoken to him. She hadn't even looked at him. She'd placed the pamphlet on the table and stood up, leaving the room with her head held high, showing that there were no tears in her eyes. She would not show him her grief.

(Later, when he went to their room and tried to open the door, it was locked. He knew she was in there, but he didn't know how to ask her to open the door, and even if he had the words, she would no longer listen to them. They had finally lost their charm to her, all the magic of palatial paragraphs gone with her trust in him.

When he finally did manage to get into the room to retrieve some of the things he needed if he was going to continue to sleep in his study, he discovered a few shreds of parchment that contained snippets of his own handwriting. They were words he remembered penning, parts of letters to his wife, the ones that had caused her to fall in love with him. He searched, but he could only find a few fragments, and he concluded that the rest of them were long since ash in the fireplace. She had ripped all the evidence of his love for her to bits and had burned it for good measure. The realization that his beloved Betsey was lost to him had been creeping towards him, but it still landed with the force of a gunshot. _I have ruined everything._ )

The children don't understand what's going on. They're too young. Only Philip, his oldest at fifteen, truly understands, and he doesn't know which parent to choose. _I'm making my children choose_ he can't look in the mirror anymore. He hates the face staring back at him, hates the eyes that admired Maria Reynolds and the mind that forced away thoughts of the family he adores so he could find carnal pleasure with another woman.

Part of him wants to hate Maria, hate her for making him want her, for making him betray his heart, but he can't do it. She's too young, too innocent. She never wanted any of that to happen... or did she? He doesn't know anymore. It's not her fault anyway. He should have said no.

His neighbors whisper about him behind their hands, abusing his character, calling him a liar and a cheat and a horrible man. He hides in his study, unable to face their words knowing that they're right.

They whisper about Eliza, calling her a fool, too weak to leave her cheating husband, women laughing because _she wasn't enough for the tomcat, was she? Not pretty enough, so he went running to a younger woman?_ It's not true, it isn't, Eliza is the most beautiful woman in the world, but she doesn't know what he thinks of her. For all he knows, she believes the whispers. And she still goes about her business with her head held high, never letting them see how much their words hurt her.

He sees her. He notices the circles under her eyes, the tiredness in her joints. She may think he doesn't care, doesn't even _know_ her, but he recognizes the signs. He's seen them in himself all too often.

Besides, he does know her. He does love her. He always has. She's always been the angel, the person he holds above all others, his beloved Betsey who can do no wrong. He had not known love before he met her, had never experienced the sweet caring that comes of being loved unconditionally from anyone other than his mother. Everyone he cared for left him eventually, but she hadn't. She never would.

Maybe that's why he did it. He knew he wasn't worthy of her, and he had to prove himself right, because if he's anything, he's self-destructive. He builds himself up just to tear everything away because he knows, deep within the darkest parts of his soul, that he would never be good enough for her, and he had to show her that.

He was right. He was never going to be worthy of her.

But he's not glad he was correct, because she's right there, just out of reach, and he _needs her_ , he knows this now. She is his everything, the very breath in his lungs that keeps him alive. Without her, he is dying. She is the elusive oasis in a desert- every time it looks like he's getting close, it turns out to be a mirage and he's farther away than ever.

He has so many words, but he can't say them to her if she isn't there. He chokes on them.

He walks into a room. She walks out of it.

And she takes all the oxygen with her.

* * *

 **All done! What did you think? RFF, I need constructive criticism! Did I capture Alex's character properly or nah? Lemme know!**

 **The word of the day is SOPORIFIC! It means causing or tending to cause sleep. Like trigonometry and Spanish. Review if you agree!**

 **It's only 10:16. What the fuck. It should be 1am by now. I am very disappointed in time currently.**

 **Oh well. That's all for now. Lulu out~**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello my minions!**

 **So someone (read: AriaSwords) asked if I would do a POV of Eliza for this. That is not currently the plan, but who knows? Right now, I'm sticking to one more chapter after this one, also from Alex's perspective. I might do a thing from Eliza's POV that will encompass the events of all three chapters, though, if people feel strongly enough about it. Or I might do it on my own even if people don't! You've captured my imagination, people! Eliza is such a sweetheart. She didn't deserve the shit she went through. She deserved the stars and more.**

 **Anyway! So I bet you can tell, judging from the first chapter, that this will not be pretty. I'm sticking to painful moments where the relationship between Eliza and Alex underwent a great deal of change in a short period of time. Any guesses at to what comes next?**

 **...yep! Phillip's death! Great guess! Hahahahahaha...ha... *cries forever***

 **So yeah. Get a box of tissues ready, because we are starting NOW!**

* * *

It's been years, hasn't it? Years since the pamphlet.

She speaks to him now, occasionally. At times, there is need for civil conversation, and she fulfills said need admirably. She looks him in the eye and speaks clearly, and it's him who looks away, him who can't return the favor. He mutters his answers and tries to look like he isn't staring at her out of the corner of his eye, memorizing everything about her, because who knows when the next conversation will be?

She leaves, and he holds his breath until the next interaction, because she still takes the air with her wherever she goes.

He spends his days at home, in his office, writing and writing, journals filled with manic scribblings that no one will read. Every once in a while he'll write about politics, like what his old "friends" are up to in Congress, or about how slavery is an institution that is going to blow up in their faces, but his words are mostly _Eliza, Eliza, Eliza_ and _love, love, love_. Sometimes John Laurens sneaks in, and he remembers how lively and outspoken and strong he was, and how he was torn away, and _I always lose them,_ and _I deserve to. I deserve this. I am not worthy of the love of these creations of God. They never should have been touched by me. I've never been worthy._

Days are years and years are days, and he's in his office, and Eliza is in the house, maybe in the next room over, but the chasm between them cannot be crossed. No bridge can be built. He did everything wrong.

Then comes the day when Philip walks into his office, straight-backed and tall, a worried look on his face, and he immediately knows something is wrong.

They speak, and Philip is so young and so strong. Philip wants to defend his father and make him proud.

When did he make Philip think he wasn't proud? He's always been proud. Philip doesn't have to do this to make him proud.

But there's no deterring the son of Alexander and Eliza Hamilton, so he just tells his firstborn to go forward and be honorable in battle. To not become a killer, like he is. To fire in the air and not kill the man who is only speaking the truth that Philip doesn't want to accept.

He thinks it will be okay when Philip leaves. He is sure that all will be well.

Then there is a frantic knock on the door, a hurried explanation, and a cold wave of fear. Eliza took the children for a walk, and he can't go find her now, not when it's so urgent that he be there, so he tells the messenger to _find my wife, tell her,_ and he runs for the water.

It takes too long, and it's almost too late. As it is, he only has moments. Philip clutches his wound, tears and sweat making his face shine. Too pale, too weak. Too far gone.

 _Is this was John looked like? Or was he gone before he could suffer this much?_

He wishes this wasn't a goodbye, but he's seen battle. He's seen enough to know when there's no hope. He whispers words of comfort, but he knows.

And Eliza is there, and she is crying, and he hasn't seen this much emotion in her since before he showed her how worthless he is, and he is so _guilty_ , because Philip fired his gun towards the clouds and now he's lying on a table, eyes glassy with pain, struggling futilely against the inevitable, and it's _all my fault_.

" _Did you know?!_ "

He can't answer.

He watches as his wife sings their son to sleep one last time, and her scream rings in his ears forever.

* * *

Neither of them can sleep in the house that holds Philip in every corner, so they move uptown. The streets are quieter, and he walks them, ignores the whispers of pity, because for once they don't blame him, even if they should. He sees mothers hug their children closer as he passes, and knows why. _No one,_ they think, _not even him, deserves that kind of pain._

They're wrong. This is exactly what he deserves.

But Eliza doesn't. Eliza is crying in her room, and he is standing at the door, and she deserves so much more than him, but he's the only thing he can give her.

They aren't lucky to be alive. She isn't lucky to have him. He doesn't deserve her. He would do anything, even trade his soul with Philip's at the gates of heaven and hell and send Philip home to his mother as he, himself, was passed judgement on. That would bring a smile to her face. He can't do that. He's not worthy of her smile.

But she is.

He will never be anywhere near perfect. He's broken and hard and burning cold and he can't do anything right, but he loves her and he's sorry and all he wants is for her to be able to smile again.

And maybe... just maybe...

(They stand in the gardens, side by side. A bed of flowers- Philip's favorites, chrysanthemums*- rest at their feet. Her hand finds his.

It's warm.)

Maybe that could be enough.

* * *

 **Well this fucked me up.**

 **Sorry it's short but I don't like to dwell on this too much. Philip should have lived.**

 **It was hard to figure out a way to write their reconciliation, because it's sort of glossed over. Does she forgive him? Yes. The _why_ is slightly unclear, though. I just did my best. Maybe that could be enough... oh fuck me that was shitty and I am hurt now I suck _fuck_**

 **Okay so that was bad...**

 ***In the language of flowers, chrysanthemums mean "you're a wonderful friend" when given to someone and cheerfulness and rest in general. I thought that was fitting for Philip, who was so cheerful and is now at rest. T-T**

 **RFF guys. Please. Tell me what you thought of this pAIN**

 **The word of the day is SOLICITOUS! It means "showing attentive care or protectiveness". I can kind of apply this to my story... I think... Is Alex being solicitous? I think so. He's showing care to Eliza because he fUCKED EVERYTHING UP and he knows she deserves better and wants to fix things as best he can.**

 **That's all for now. Lulu out**


End file.
